Survivor: South Pacific

“Yes, do,” Meade said to Peasbury. “You’ve had your morning ration.”

“But, sir, I got sand in my throat!”

Meade clenched his fists. “One handful! That is all!”

Peasbury scuttled to the water tub and scooped two handfuls.

“Little wretch,” Ogle said. He snatched Peasbury by the hair and tossed him several feet. He then turned and stalked from the shade beneath the stunted trees.


Meade awakened in the first rays of sunlight to the perpetual sounds of the island—the crash of surf on the nearby beach, and the constant buzzing of flies. He stood and stretched, his stiff joints protesting. Wobbling on his feet, he gripped a tree branch as he fought off a dizzy spell brought on by starvation. Like any ship’s officer coming on watch, he took stock of the current situation.

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